


72º and Snowy

by crabmoney3



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Found Family?, Gen, Holidays, Los Angelei winter, Memories, Winter, crabs are a found family, i just wanted to write something wholesome for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28270044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabmoney3/pseuds/crabmoney3
Summary: Valentine Games is experiencing the strangeness that is both California winter (or lack thereof) and his first holiday season without the Crabs. Val doesn't care for Chrlistmas either way, but something about this year is making him thinking about holidays spent with the Crabs, in particular a very chaotic Chrlistmas that involved handling a very persistent and concerned Ollie.
Relationships: Valentine Games & Oliver Notarobot
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	72º and Snowy

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some wholesome holiday content and also unlocked a childhood memory from like, 5 year old crabmoney at christmas so uh Ollie is a die-hard slanta believer because he is basically just a projection of 5 year old crabmoney in this happy hlolidays

72º and Snowy

By crabmoney3

It doesn’t feel like winter, Valentine Games thinks to himself as he looks up at row upon row of palm trees decorated in a spiral of colorful lights. He wanders down the streets of Los Angeli with his current team. The Tacos are wearing an eclectic mix of “winter” clothing. Basilio Mason wears a sweatshirt with a cheesy holiday print, Basilio Fig wears a fuzzy light up sweater and shorts, matching the palm trees that surround them, Mcdowell Mason is in a full coat-and-scarf getup despite already being covered in fur. Val is just in a t-shirt and lightweight jeans. It’s still 72 degrees, after all.

The team is on siesta over the holidays—no blaseball to be hand during this winter time. Nothing much to do except kick back and explore the city. Val passes shop windows and hears clips of songs, all promising snow and ice, singing notes about how cold it is outside. Val laughs a bit. The teammates think it’s just his poetic self laughing at cheesy pop lyrics, but that’s not the case. The fact is, it’s still 72 degrees outside and the concrete is dry as ever. He sees a cactus with red ornaments delicately hung on its needles.

Winter here is nothing like the winter Val has grown to love back in Baltimore. Sure, you don’t always get a white Christmas there either, but at least the leaves have fallen from the trees and the streets get salted just in case. He mentioned the salt to Halexandrey, once, and the returned expression he received clearly said “Why the hell would you put salt on the ground? Who does that?”

Val was never really one to get too deep into the holiday spirit. He celebrates Hlannukah with Pedro every year (though he found it difficult this time around with the Crabs, well, Up. It didn’t stop him from trying to make the most of it, though). As for Chrlistmas? He could take it or leave it, but if spending time together for it made the team happy, he was there. Usually they’d treat it the same as post-season breakfast. They’d meet at Tosser and Brock’s place for pancakes and hashbrowns. The only difference being on Chrlistmas they’d exchange simple little gifts they’d either picked up or made throughout the season. Tillman, of course, always used his parents’ money to go all-out on gifts, though whether they were _good_ presents or not was up to debate. Back in the day, they’d even make sure a few of the gifts were labeled as “from Slanta.” It was somewhat a joke, but mostly it was for Ollie.

The Crabs never understood what it was in Ollie’s programming that turned out that way, but their good flesh-robot boy was adamant about the belief in Slanta Cllaus. Too many Rlankin-Bass films as a prototype, maybe. If someone even implied that Slanta might be made up, Ollie would nearly blow a fuse. Even Tillman knew not to joke about it. (Well, _learned_ not to joke about it after a very threatening pull-aside from Kennedy. It was a scarily dad-like moment, even for Loser.) Most years it was fine; an endearing little quirk they all got to play into in the morning. Brock would bake cookies with Ollie on Chrlistmas Eve, and Parker would get there early to eat them. Sutton would do the fancy “Slanta Cllaus” signature on gifts in a way Ollie wouldn’t recognize as hers. A lot of the Crabs used the Slanta gifts as a way to get something nice for themselves, too. An excuse for a treat they’d been eyeing for a while. Slanta usually left something for Nora, too, that they could bring as a tribute to her in the hall.

One year was not so smooth. Chrlistmas lined up with the Crabs heading to an away game, all the way out in the Hellmouth. They’d be about halfway there at that point, all crammed into Pedro’s RV as they made it across the country. The Crabs insisted they could still be festive, but Ollie was distraught.

_Why am I remembering this now?_ , Valentine wonders as he passes a sad little outdoor ice rink, already melting in the California sun despite the rink’s desperate attempt to stay frozen.

Ollie was on the brink of a meltdown when he realized they’d still be in the RV over Chrlistmas. He was so overheated he started to smoke, and all the camper windows had to be opened.

“Hey, it’s okay bud, we can still celebrate tomorrow,” Kennedy said, pouring some coolant down Ollie’s back.

“INCORRECT. WE ARE NOT HOME. SLANTA CLLAUS WILL NOT BE ABLE TO FIND US.”

“Yo, robot, chill out,” Tillman chimed in, tossing his wadded-up gum wrapper at Ollie.

“I AM NOT A ROBOT AND CHILLING DOES NOT COMPUTE.”

Tillman laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Slanta will find you through like. The magic of Chrlistmas or whatever bullshit.”

“INCORRECT.”

“No, as much as I had to admit it, Tillman’s right! You believe in Chrlistmas magic right? I’m sure it will all be fine and there will be presents tomorrow.” Sutton smiled at Ollie before muttering to herself, too quiet for Ollie’s decibel sensors to pick up on, “I would know, I packed all of them.”

“INCORRECT. SLANTA CANNOT DELIVER GIFTS TO THE RV. CHRLISTMAS HAS BEEN CTRL+C.”

“All right, you’ve lost me there Ollie. Why can’t Slanta come to the RV?” Valentine asked.

“NO CHIMNEY.”

“No… chimney?”

“NO CHIMNEY NO ENTRYWAY FOR SLANTA.”

The team looked around to each other. What were they supposed to do now? Val remembers panicking a bit, trying to think of the quickest solution. He always wanted to see his teammates happy, and if they didn’t fix this for Ollie he was certain it would be a miserable away series for everyone involved.

“We’ll build one,” he said.

Pedro looked like he was about to kill Val.

“BUILD?”

“Yes, Val,” Pedro joined. “Please tell me how you intend to build a chimney in _my_ RV that _I_ have to carry on my back.”

“Chrlistmas magic.”

Tillman and Brock both snorted. “Fuckin’ good one, Val.”

“I’m serious, Tillman.” Val shot him a look that said hey, you will shut up if you know what’s good for you. Tillman complied. “Sutton, you make mosaics, right?”

Sutton nodded.

“And Pedro, I know you have paper.”

“Well of course, I need something to print my research on—”

“No, not printer paper. I know you’ve got good construction paper from when you do a workshop at Port Discovery.”

Pedro blushed a bit. “Oh, yes, I do keep quite the supply of that around too, I suppose.”

“We use the paper to make bricks, Sutton helps us put it on the wall to look like a chimney, Chrlistmas is saved.”

“ERROR. THAT IS NOT A REAL CHIMNEY.”

“That’s where the Chrlistmas magic comes in, Ollie. Slanta will know it’s a chimney.”

“ERROR. THAT IS—”

Valentine took Ollie’s warm, metal hands in his own. “Don’t you trust me? Don’t you trust your team, Ollie? It’ll work. I promise.”

Ollie looked down at his hands, buffering as he processed Val’s solution. It took a moment for him to work through the scenarios, but Ollie ultimately came to a decision. “SUGGESTION PROCESSED. CONCLUSION: I SUPPOSE IT IS WORTH A SHOT.”

Pedro got out all the art supplies he keeps in the cabinet for lectures at the Children’s Museum, being careful not to let Ollie see the presents he has hidden there as well. The Crabs put on some music and all doubled-down on the chimney plan, making an arts and crafts assembly line. Ollie snip snip sniped brick after brick out of multicolored, pulpy paper. Tillman aimlessly cut “bricks” as well, but hardly any of them actually turned out rectangular. Brock put tape on the back of them and Sutton directed where to place each brick. She knew exactly how to make the shapes fit together, and how to keep there from being doubles of any color next to each other. Parker worked on the lower sections and Tosser used his pitching arm to place the highest bits of the chimney against the roof of the camper. Kennedy and Watson made warm beverages for the team. Combs decided there should be a fire in the fireplace and started cutting out the shapes to make it. (They also promised to make the flames easily removable so Slanta doesn’t get incinerated, as per Ollie’s request.) Forrest scuttled along the assembly line, bringing the elements from section to section. He stepped over to Valentine, who had been watching everything unfold.

_Good idea_ , Forrest signed. _It made Ollie warm_.

“Thanks, Forrest.”

_You don’t even like Chrlistmas._

“I mean, yeah. I don’t celebrate it except with you all.”

_You care about us._

“I guess I do, don’t I.”

_A lot._

Valentine could almost swear he saw Forrest’s blank mannequin face grinning.

“CHIMNEY COMPLETE.”

Val turned to look at the finished product. It didn’t look half bad, this paper rainbow taped up to a hastily cleared wall. (Pedro was not the most keen on the Crabs moving his framed degrees, but ultimately gave in.) Sutton had gotten the shape of the chimney perfect, with just enough spacing between each brick to look like the cement layers between. You could tell which of the poorly-shaped bricks were Tillman’s, but they didn’t actually look wrong. Sutton used them as fillers, and gave the chimney an almost cobblestone-like feeling around the fire combs had made.

“So what do you think?” Val asked Ollie.

“APPEARANCE IS GOOD. DO YOU REALLY THINK IT WILL WORK?”

“Absolutely. Now get some rest and recharge a bit.”

“I DO NOT NEED TO RECHARGE AS I AM A HUMAN.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Ollie.”

“OH. RIGHT. HA HA. ANYWAYS, SLEEP MODE ACTIVATED.”

The next morning went off without a hitch. Everyone left their presents in front of the fireplace. Ollie’s eye-bulbs lit up when he woke up and saw everything. And on top of it all, Sutton had left an extra note on the fireplace in her Slanta Cllaus handwriting:

“Oliver— you’ve been very good. Thank you for the chimney. It made things easier, but just know Chrlistmas will happen no matter where you are. If you are with people who care about you, you are home. -Slanta Cllaus”

_I wonder how the Garages are handling Oll-E the Christmas Bot_ , Val thinks. One of the Tacos suggests stopping for some festive beverages at a coffee shop. It’s 72 degrees still, so most of them opt for iced versions. Something seems wrong to Val about a cold peppermint hot chocolate, so he gets a hot one and decides he’s fine being a bit overheated. He burns his tongue a bit on the first sip, but it’s still good. The chocolate is thick and rich, and the mint isn’t overpowering. The team takes their drinks to go.

Valentine starts drafting a letter to the Crabs in his head:

_My dear Crabs,_

_My heart is frozen, but thoughts of you all melt it_

_Turning to slush on my Gameboy circuitry_

_Cold yet full of sparks and passion_

_The holidays are naught without you_

_Memories of you scale my mind_

_Like a paper chimney along a wall_

_I do not know if you can read this poem_

_But know you are still home._

_Yours,_

_Valentine Games_

His poem reminds Val how much he misses snow. He keeps thinking about that Chrlistmas, and the insistence on Chrlistmas magic to Ollie. “I could use a little of that right now,” he mutters.

Someone hears him.

“Oh my god,” Fig says. “Is that snow?”

“It can’t be snow,” the other Basilio says. “It’s Los Angeli.”

Valentine looks up. There are clouds that weren’t there before, but not enough of them to block the sunlight. But it certainly seems like something is falling from them. He watches as what looks like ash trickles down and lands cold on his nose. Snow.

The snow falls thick and fluffy, like the best of winter storms that lead to school cancellations and days playing outside amongst friends. Los Angeleinos stop their cars in the middle of the road and get out to watch. For some passers-by, it’s the first time they’ve ever seen snow. Some are afraid, most are thrilled. Val looks back at the sky and thinks again how the Crabs are supposedly Up amongst the clouds at this very moment.

_Perhaps this is their gift, just for me. Still keeping with traditions. Always holding me to that claim of Chrlistmas magic_ , he thinks. Val watches as snowflakes melt and leave small droplets of water against his arms, grateful he decided to order his drink hot.


End file.
